Welcoming Litae: An Epilogue
by skyle
Summary: [Pre RE4] In a top secret agent training facility in DC, two of Raccoon City’s survivors reflect on its six year anniversary and the events thereafter.
1. Part I

**Disclaimer:** All Resident Evil characters and associated names mentioned therein do not belong to me. I've been wanting to own them since 1997, true, but Capcom would rather keep them to themselves. Not that I blame them. 

**Author's Note: **Inspired by a single line in _Resident Evil 4_: "Got gum." It was supposed to be a short story. And then it became this. Hopefully it'll be finished before the 11th, before I get stricken for a week or two by that Ganado virus. 

* * *

WELCOMING LITAE: AN EPILOGUE  
PART ONE  
By Skyle

* * *

Change is an incremental process. 

* * *

Claire Redfield was whistling "Secret Agent Man" as she waited outside the chain link fence. She had forsaken her trademark ponytail and now wore her auburn hair loose; she'd ditched her jeans and motorcycle gear for a casual black dress that was festooned with blood-red flowers and hung an inch over her knees. There was a touch of blue eye shadow on her lids and a tint of coral lipstick on her mouth. She did not look like someone who could outrun helicopter guns and go one-on-one against nine-foot-tall monstrosities with gigantic eyes imbedded in their arms. 

But then again, perhaps that was the point.

She went through the chorus for the third time before shading her eyes to peer closer at the training field on the other side of the fence. "So he's in here, huh?" she asked, more to herself than the agency employee who had guided her there.

"Oh, one of his instructors is calling him right now," said the employee, all but falling over himself in his desire to please her. He was a young man in his thirties with ill-fitting tortoise shell glasses, probably one of the numerous pencil-pushers hired to keep track of the mountains of government paperwork. "He'll be here soon."

Claire turned her attention back to the area across the fence. The entire thing was impressive to look at, like a cross between a regular city block, obstacle course, and a war zone. Swarming around in a kind of organized chaos were sixty or so agents-in-training, all clad in nondescript gray shirts and sweats, apparently engaged in a drill of some sort. She tried to spot him amongst the trainees and was disappointed to find that she could not.

"There he is," the ever-helpful employee piped up beside her. "That's him."

Startled, Claire followed his gaze. There was a trainee standing off to the side not far from the fence, his back to them. Addressing him was an authoritative-looking middle-aged man whose suit and bearing screamed 'government spook'.

"...visitors are against regulations," the spook was scolding the trainee. "But for some reason the higher-ups apparently think that the sun shines out of your ass, so I'm guessing that you're probably JFK's long-lost second cousin, three times removed, because frankly, son, that seems to be the only explanation."

Claire strained to catch the trainee's reply to that, but was denied by the sudden spring of chatter from the obstacle course. Whatever he said, it was brief and seemed to defuse some of the spook's bluster, but not entirely.

"Hmph. Anyway, your visitor's waiting over at the fence." Then, as though he couldn't resist one last parting jab, the spook added: "And one more thing, kid—at least cut your hair and get some scratches on that pretty face of yours before you get out of here, or else you're gonna end up looking like some male escort for the First Lady!"

And with that, he spun grandly on his heel—and therefore missed the middle finger the recruit extended toward his departing back.

Claire felt her mouth stretch into a smile as the trainee finally turned around. He seemed too tall, his hair a bit different, but she called out anyway.

"Leon!"

His head whipped around toward her, and it _was _him.

"Hey." Claire smiled tentatively at him from across the chain links. "I almost didn't recognize you."

Leon Scott Kennedy jogged up to the other side of the fence, his expression disbelieving. "Claire?"

"That's my name." She let her eyes flicker briefly over him: he was wearing the same comfortable gray shirt and sweats as the rest of the recruits, his feet encased in those ratty Adidas sneakers he had adamantly refused to throw out. Sweat gleamed on his collarbone and formed dark patches on his collar and back—he must've been halfway through the drill before he had been interrupted. "You look different," she couldn't help remarking.

She supposed she shouldn't have been surprised. It had been more than half a year since she had seen him, after all, long enough for him to change.

Evidently he was thinking something around the same lines. "I was going to say the same thing about you," he admitted.

Claire tilted her head to one side. "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

"Oh, good. Definitely good," he replied quickly. He still seemed to be trying to come to grips with her sudden appearance.

"Good." She leaned closer to the fence and curled her fingers around the diamond pattern of the chain links. "Actually, earlier...I didn't really mean to say 'different.' I mean...you look pretty good, too."

"I'm sweating like a pig and I'm sure I smell, but thank you."

Claire let out a bark of laughter, and Leon smiled a little, edging closer to the fence. He was about to say something else when his smile congealed, and Claire turned around to see why: the employee was still there, grinning inanely as he drank up the reunion.

He started guiltily as he realized that they were both staring at him. "Um, ah, sorry. Sorry. I'll go now." With that, he reluctantly waffled off, leaving the duo to their privacy.

"You gotta understand," Leon began, speaking unexpectedly close to her ear. "This facility's mostly guys, and most of the staff here don't have a life until we complete the final phase of training."

Claire nodded her understanding as she contemplated him once more. The effect was strange: one second he looked like Leon, the same old, comfortable Leon who had been one of her fellow renegades for five of the most tumultuous years of her life, but then the next second he looked like someone completely different: a fair-haired, unapproachable, roguish stranger.

"You look taller," she blurted out, more to herself than him.

He blinked, nonplussed. "I do?"

"Taller...or bigger, I don't know which. I mean, you're always been in good shape, but now you've...I don't know...really filled out." She lifted her eyes again to his face. "And you let your hair grow." 

He ducked away before she could brush at the curtain of hair that hung over his right eye. "Yeah, it's a bit too long for regulations, but it's not interfering with my training, so I can get away with it. Besides, there're already too many members of the buzzcut club in here, and you know how much I hate conformity, so..." He shrugged. "Anyway, no matter how much the guys razz me about it, I'm not about to cut it because of them." 

"Don't. It suits you." She let a teasing note infiltrate her voice. "Blondie." 

"It's genetics," Leon sighed. He had always been light haired, but last year a four-month mission in South America had bleached his hair a shade of flaxen. It had taken Claire approximately three weeks to get over it. 

She was silent for the span of several moments. "You've changed so much."

Leon inspected his scuffed-up sneakers. "No, I haven't." 

Claire had to grin at the sight of Leon Kennedy—Raccoon City survivor, zombie-ass-kicker, soon-to-be-elite United States agent—looking abashed at her words. "Just on the outside, then." 

* * *

_Chris and Claire came back from Antarctica to find their secret S.T.A.R.S. headquarters razed to the ground, their members scattered across the globe. _

_Jill was in Borneo with Barry and a couple of new anti-Umbrella recruits, one of them being ex-H.C.B.S. employee Carlos Oliviera and the other government employee Ark Thompson. The latter had supplied the Redfields with an address somewhere in the Midwest, an hour or two away from what used to be Raccoon City. It had, Ark said, been sent to him via his friend Leon's e-mail address; accompanying it had been an vaguely blunt request for help from someone with the initials "E.W." _

_The address turned out to be the apartment of a belong to a blond college-age young woman named Elza Walker, who intercepted the Redfields by pointing a Beretta in their faces. _

_It had taken several minutes for Chris to convince her that they were not Umbrella spies, and even longer for both to convince her that they were the help she had asked for. She'd revealed that she'd gotten Ark's e-mail address from Leon, who had finished his mission in Europe and had been forced to take refuge in her place despite his reluctance to get her involved. As far as Elza was concerned, he'd no choice: he had been stricken with fever not long after he had shown up, and could barely stand and see straight. _

_But even that didn't stop him from bolting before Chris and Claire had the chance to see him. He managed to make it to the apartment roof via the fire escape—despite the fact that two of the stairwells had been broken—and would've successfully eluded them had he not finally given out near the water tower. In his delirium it had taken him a minute to recognize Claire, and when he did, he told Claire the last thing she wanted to hear: Sherry was gone, and most probably in Umbrella's hands. _

_He was flushed and unsteady, his eyes unfocused and glittering with fever, but Claire had not slept for nearly forty-eight hours and had had enough of losing people she had sworn to protect. _

_She hit him. _

* * *

_"I don't know if you believe me," Claire began plaintively from the other side of the room, "but I really am sorry." _

_Leon shrugged. He was lying down on the dorm-style cot, long limbs dangling out over the edges, a wet cloth folded over his forehead. The sting on his chin had all but faded away. _

_Claire went on, staring down at her hands as she twisted them over and over in her lap. "I mean, I've been kind of on edge for a long while. I thought I could handle it, but..." She trailed off. "I'm sorry you had to be on the receiving end of it. Does it still hurt?" she said suddenly. _

_Leon merely stared at the mauve wallpaper, squinting through the damp strands of hair that clung petulantly to his lashes. Claire couldn't resist brushing away the erring strands for him, and winced at how warm his skin was. _

_"You know what I thought when you punched me?" he asked. His voice was raw, raspy. _

_"What?" she queried, in a tone that indicated that she really wasn't sure she wanted to know. _

_"I thought, 'Article 421: abuse of a police officer is grounds for arrest,' but then I realized I wasn't a cop anymore, so I thought, 'Damn, I can't arrest her.' " _

_Claire laughed; the sound wasn't entirely hollow. She let her hand slide to his neck and then down to his wrist as though to check his pulse. "I am so, so sorry, Leon." _

_"I'll get Sherry back," he said as though he hadn't heard her. _

We'll_ get her back," Claire corrected him, a bit uneasy at the determined glint in his too-bright eyes. "As soon as you get well." _

_"I never get sick," Leon declared, then flung his arm rather dramatically over his brow, knocking off the poultice. "Ask Elza." _

_Claire pulled his arm away from his brow and dunked the displaced cloth in the metal basin Elza had brought in earlier. "You've known her for a long time, huh?" _

_"Since I was in high school." _

_"Not that long, then," she muttered under her breath. _

_"What?" _

_"Nothing. Maybe the stress caused it, made your immune system shut down or something." Claire sat down gingerly at the edge of the bed and dabbed at his forehead with the wet cloth like he was no older than three. For all her sarcasm and tomboyish demeanor, she also had a fiercely maternal side. "You move pretty good for someone with a temperature of a hundred and five. How'd you get to the roof with that broken fire escape?" _

_Leon frowned deeply, obviously puzzling over her question. "I thought they'd found me," he mumbled, blinking his eyes against the water that trickled down his face. "If Umbrella had found out that Elza was helping me...they'd go after her as well. I didn't want her to...I don't remember knocking Chris down or even climbing the fire escape. All I could think about was that I had to get away, spare Elza from all this." _

_"Oh, I see. Chivalry gave you wings." Claire blew a raspberry. "Has anyone ever told you you need to stop trying to play the noble knight to everybody? 'Cause you're a few centuries too late." _

_He tried to sit up, annoyed, but she seemed to anticipate his action and dropped her hand to his chest, where it felt like a boulder. He turned his head away from her and pressed it into his pillow. "What's wrong with trying to save everyone?" _

_"You can't." Her tone was brusque and deliberate, but underneath it Leon could sense a sadness that was somehow familiar to him. "The truth is that no matter how hard you try, you can't save everyone." _

_He didn't respond for such a long time that Claire thought he'd fallen asleep. She was about to shift her body toward his for a look at his face when he spoke, his voice half-muffled by the pillow. _

_"I know you can't, but that shouldn't stop you from trying." _

_Claire wanted to snap at him: _What makes you think it's that easy? You have no idea how it feels to lose someone you thought you could protect! _But her words died in her throat when her mind flashed back to the sewers beneath the RPD, where a bleeding and half-conscious Leon had been rambling about a girl he'd run into named Ada. When they'd escaped Raccoon City via that train, Sherry had been there with Claire, but Leon had been alone. He certainly would not have left anyone behind, especially not someone he had taken a bullet for. _

_"Leon..." _

_"You have to keep fighting." He was almost slurring now; the fever medicine was starting to kick in. "If not for yourself, then for them—the ones we couldn't save, the ones who got caught up in this whole Umbrella nightmare. From this moment on, on you carry on for them and live your life for them...no matter how guilty or useless or heartsick you might feel." _

_Claire dug her nails into the blanket beside her. It wasn't until she heard him say the words that she realized that they described perfectly her state of being since Antarctica: useless. Guilty. Heartsick. _

_Leon _knew_, plain and simple; he didn't have to pretend to commiserate with her like everyone else. _

_For a moment Claire shoved aside her own sense of loss and wondered about his. Leon had never told her or Sherry what had happened to him during that fateful night, and they had not wanted to pry. _

_Now she had a hundred thousand questions to ask him about his experience, so many things she wanted him to explain, but all she could cobble up was a tiny, "Will it ever get better?" _

_"It will. Eventually. You'll never forget, but it'll become bearable. You just..." He trailed off for a second, fumbling for the words. "You just need to forgive yourself first." _

_Claire had just let this finish sinking in when she heard something in the distance that sounded alarmingly like gunfire. But her instincts, honed and sharpened after months of handling and being around more weaponry than an armada, identified them as fireworks, which didn't really make sense until she caught sight of Elza's motorcycle calendar hanging haphazardly over her dresser mirror. It was on the last page: December 1998. _

_Outside, somewhere beyond the icy velvet that cloaked the windowpane, came the chime of dozens of happy, slightly drunken voices singing "Auld Lang Syne." _

New Year's Day already? _Claire thought. She felt like she should be annoyed that she had missed such a pertinent piece of information, but for some reason she felt nothing more than a detached irritation. It didn't feel like New Year's Day, anyhow. For one thing, she'd made plans for New Year's Day, plans that didn't involve being on the run from continent to continent, carrying out raids on top-secret facilities, and dispatching massive numbers of the undead. _

_This wasn't how she pictured the beginning of 1999. She was supposed to be partying at some swanky get-together thrown by one of her college friends, eating chocolate-covered caramel warmed by champagne, kissing a boy for good luck. _

_She peered around over her shoulder to make some sort of snarky comment about holidays, but Leon was already out for the count. The cloth on his forehead had tumbled down to his pillow, soaking it, and his breathing was quiet and steady, though with a hint of a hitch now and then. _

Well, then, _Claire thought as she retrieved the cloth to return it to the basin. So this was how she was going to spend the first day of the new year: holding vigil over a fever-wracked police officer slumbering in the bedroom of a girl she didn't know while downstairs her lost-and-now-found brother toiled to regroup his shattered team. _

_For a second, she wondered how it would be if they had gotten their happier endings. Sherry would be right here ringing in the new year beside her, her pixie face alight with joy even as she fought to hide how much she missed her parents. Steve would be there, too, trying to pretend that he didn't care about celebrating but clearly enjoying himself, and before the night was over he would probably attempt to steal a kiss or two. And Leon? Leon would have Ada by his side; he would still have that idealistic light in his eyes, and would not be running himself sick with his ruthless anti-Umbrella campaigning. _

_She halted that train of thought before it could go any further. If she kept lingering on the what-might-have-beens she'd become a basketcase—and that was the last thing Leon and her brother and the rest of the S.T.A.R.S. needed her to be right now. She had to be strong; she had to get Sherry back, avenge Steve, and ensure that Umbrella would never have free reign to ruin anyone else's lives ever again. _

You have to forgive yourself first, _Leon had said. She wondered if he'd taken his own advice. She doubted it. _

_She studied his sleeping form. Physically, he wasn't all that imposing: he was slender in build, and possessed the unfortunate combination of big blue eyes, even features, and too-long hair that one usually didn't see outside of ten-year-olds or teen heartthrob magazines. He looked so much younger than he actually was, a fact that might have been construed as a disadvantage in his line of work. It seemed highly improbable that this rookie ex-cop, barely out of the academy, could have fought his way out of the Raccoon City necropolis when his older, more experienced comrades could not, could have lived when hordes of highly-trained SWAT and Special Forces teams had succumbed. And he had done it all with a bullet in his shoulder, which must have hurt like hell with every recoil of his guns. _

_Once, out of Sherry's earshot, he had confided in her that the actual act of surviving was the first part—the second part was the psychological aftermath, the harder part. If you managed to resume your life with your psyche mostly intact, he'd said, only then were you a survivor. _

_Well, he was a survivor. And so was she. _

_"Happy New Year, Leon," she murmured, and listened as he let out a soft snore in response. _

_Outside the revelers were launching into their third encore._

Should auld acquaintance be forgot  
And never brought to mind?  
Should auld acquaintance be forgot  
And days of auld lang syne? 

* * *

END OF PART ONE

* * *

**Random Musings (because it's been so long since I was into RE that I now cannot shut up about it): **

Way back when, about two or three years ago, I started on this RE fic titled "The Anteros Contract", which was supposed to include the entire RE cast and chronicle the fall of Umbrella and the clash with the HCF. Then I encountered massive writer's block as I got distracted by life and school and other survival horror games. However, with the spectacular-looking _RE4 _on the horizon, I've rediscovered my love of the _Resident Evil _franchise, and ended up writing this instead of a school report. It's a sort of epilogue to the unwritten "Anteros", but can stand on its own. It takes place a month or so before the events of _RE4 _.

"Litae/Litai", from Greek mythology, are the daughters of Zeus, "wrinkled creatures with halting gaits and downcast eyes." Their destiny is to forever follow Ate (the personification of Delusion and Ruin). But Ate is faster than them, and she roams around the world, her feet so light that she is able to step on the heads of men and bring them much suffering and harm. But the Litae always arrive in her wake and slowly set things right. They are the personification of "prayers." So what does Greek mythology have to do with _Resident Evil_? A lot, actually. I'll explain next chapter.

Elza Walker is the blond-haired, biker-chick heroine of _Resident Evil 2 _. Or, at least, she would've been, had Capcom not decided to scrap the first version after they were 80 percent done with it and replace her with Claire Redfield. I just thought it'd be cool to give her a teeny cameo as an acquaintance of Leon's. 


	2. Part II

Disclaimer: All Resident Evil characters and associated names mentioned therein do not belong to me. I've been wanting to own them since 1997, true, but Capcom would rather keep them to themselves. Not that I blame them.

Author's Note: Inspired by a single line in _Resident Evil 4_: "Got gum." It was supposed to be a short story. And then it became this. Hopefully it'll be finished before the 11th, before I get stricken for a week or two by that Ganado virus.

* * *

"Welcoming Litae: An Epilogue"  
Part Two  
by Skyle

* * *

"I got something for you." Claire reached into the pocket of her dress—figured she'd buy one with pockets in it—and pulled out a pack of gum, enjoying the way Leon's eyes lit up at the sight. It was comforting for her to know that no matter how much he'd changed, no matter how much death and debauchery he'd witnessed, there would be all these pieces of him that would always remain the same.

"Grape flavor and high in sugar," he murmured approvingly, accepting the package from her through the chain links. "You know what I like."

Claire chuckled. "After all this time, you're still a gum whore."

He waved the pack under her nose. "I prefer to call it oral fixation'. Besides, there're worse things I could be hooked on. For example, mustard and peanut butter sandwiches."

"Hey, don't knock it till you've tried it," protested Claire.

Leon unwrapped a stick, tossed it into his mouth, and began to chew reverently. "Ah. Now this's the stuff. Much better than that flat sugar-free version we've had to make do with in here." He leaned down and popped a bubble close to her face for emphasis.

It was all so abnormally _normal_, Claire thought, her breath hitching. Just her and him shooting the breeze through a chain-link fence under a crisp autumn sky—and for once there were no flesh-eating zombies, twisted bio-organic viruses, or diabolical pharmaceutical corporations to distract them.

Maybe that was why she was feeling so antsy right now. Normalcy was something still foreign to her even nearly a year after Umbrella's fall; it was something she almost railed against, something she needed to keep at an arm's length for sanity's sake.

She almost missed Leon's question.

"So how'd you get in here, anyway?" he was asking. "I mean, this isn't exactly a place where they give tours. You didn't break in or anything, did you?"

"Of course not," sniffed Claire, affecting a scandalized look. "Breaking into heavily guarded secret facilities is a talent I've decided to reserve only for Umbrella bases."

"Much to the relief of federal security agencies everywhere," Leon said, only half-jokingly. "But seriously. How'd you get in?"

She made a show out of buffing her knuckles against her dress front. "Apparently, the Redfield name carries a lot of weight—at least with the proper higher-ups, anyway."

"Throwing your name around already?" For some reason he grinned, as if charmed. "You'll be a politician yet."

"Ooh, you'd like that, wouldn't you? Maybe it'll be my ass you'll end up protecting." She was taken aback at how that had come out, not unlike a double entendre.

"Knowing you, Claire, I think it'd be the would-be assassins and kidnappers who'd need protection."

She beamed brilliantly at the sincerity in his tone. "Thank you." She watched as he absently flapped the hem of his shirt in an attempt to cool off, then said: "You know, it wasn't that easy to get in here even with the name-dropping. Did you know it took me an hour just to get through the front gates? I must've pulled out every ID card I own and signed a hundred clearance forms, and that was just the first part. Even visiting Jill at her Delta Force base wasn't this complicated. What're they teaching you guys in here?"

Leon tugged at his collar. "Nothing. The usual secret agent stuff."

He seemed as though he were on the verge of saying more, but apparently thought better of it. Claire was aware that the whole cloak-and-dagger thing came with the territory, though she could not deny that she was curious. Five years of living as an anti-Umbrella insurgent had made Leon more than adequately well versed in firearms, self-defense, and strike team procedures. He had helped infiltrate Umbrella's online network, and even coordinated attacks. What else did he need to add to his repertoire—hacking top-level computer systems? Dodging and vaulting security lasers? Some sort of Matrix-y Special Agent-Fu? Or maybe something simpler...

"Like how to jump out of two-story windows without breaking your neck?" queried Claire, indicating the mock houses on the obstacle course. One of the trainees had just launched himself through one of the windows, landing miraculously unharmed thirty feet below.

Leon threw a cursory glance behind him. "That's one of the things we gotta learn, yeah."

"You can do that?" she marveled.

"It comes with the training."

"Then you should come to my apartment sometime." At his mystified look, Claire quickly clarified: "It's on the second floor. You could show me your little diving move there."

"Won't the neighbors complain if I came flying out of your second-story window?"

"Nah. I throw my men out that way all the time."

Leon looked at her as though he was trying to gauge her sanity levels, and Claire felt inordinately proud of herself.

"Well, that's one way to get rid of them," he said lightly.

Whatever clever repartee she had planned to give him was lost as a shriek came from the field. A recruit lay sprawled at the bottom of one of the buildings, moaning and clutching his ankle. Beside him stood one of the instructors, alternately yelling for a medic and yelling for the man to quit whining, for God's sake, it was just a sprained muscle.

Claire dragged her gaze away from the debacle and bit her lip. "Harder than it looks, huh?"

"Less than twenty percent of us are expected to complete the training," admitted Leon, his gaze growing distant as though in reminiscence. Again she had the sensation that he had more to say than he was permitted.

"But you're going to be one of the twenty percent, right?"

He regarded her, dead serious. "If I can get through Raccoon City, I can get through whatever they throw at me here."

* * *

_Barely a month after the Raccoon City survivors had reunited and set up shop in their newest headquarters underneath Paris, tensions were at a boiling point. _

___Perhaps it was the strain of living as fugitives, having to pack up and move from hideout to hideout without prior notice, or the endless loop of night raids on various Umbrella facilities—whatever it was, it was taking its toll on the newfound S.T.A.R.S. Having to live day in and day out in such close quarters did not make it easier; though there were separate quarters for each gender, there was very little privacy to be had. _

___Case in point: Jill was in a foul mood after helping break up Chris and Carlos's earlier near-fight, and anyone who dared wander within her hearing range was subjected to a long and rambling tirade about men and how damned unreasonable they were. Unfortunately, since there were males occupying the other rooms in the compound, she'd chosen to commandeer the girls' quarters, where Claire was currently brooding in. _

___"…I can't believe Chris told me that I'm letting my feelings impair my good judgment, especially after he's been acting so irrational and suspicious lately!" raged Jill, her hands flying every which-way. "And right after I tried to explain to Carlos just why Chris initiated that lockdown order, Carlos accused me of the same thing! Can you believe the temerity of those two?" _

_Claire lay stretched out on her bed, wishing that she'd bothered to fetch her blanket from the dryer so that she could pull it over her head and block out Jill's diatribe. She understood the reason for the older woman's ire, she really did, but for all of Jill's good intentions and copious smarts, she couldn't seem to figure out that her habit of defending either Chris or Carlos to the other only ruffled their Alpha Male instincts even more. If the situation wasn't so infuriating it would almost be funny, except Claire had no idea who she should be more amused with: Chris and Carlos for being so obvious, or Jill, for being so _ob_livious. Then she concluded that it was a tie and left it at that. _

___"You know what's the most exasperating thing about it? This's so unlike them. They're usually so easygoing and professional and—" Something in Claire's face must've tipped Jill off, because she stopped in mid-sentence. "Claire, you okay?" _

___The younger girl stared at the dingy ceiling. "I'm okay, considering." _

___Jill sat down gingerly on the bed across from her. "You know, you shouldn't let what Wesker said last night get to you. He's not exactly a paragon of honesty." _

___"I know, but…the way he said it…" Claire drifted off. She could still hear his voice even now, smarmy and taunting, telling her that Steve and Sherry would be pleased to know that she was there. Would be', he'd said. Not would've been'. Present tense, as though they were still alive. _

___"We'll find them, Claire," Jill said as though reading her mind. Once again Claire was struck by how someone so intelligent could fail to tell when two grown men were fighting over her. "Sure, last night's mission could've gone a lot better, but on we were able to secure a good amount of top-secret documents. Wesker's been stealing Umbrella's secrets for months; I'm sure they've got data on him, as well as that HCF organization of his." _

___Claire pulled herself into a lotus position. "I hate this," she declared vehemently. "The waiting. I can't stand it. I feel like I should be out there, blowing up another Umbrella facility or looking for that damned HCF base." _

___"I know how you feel, believe me, but we really got caught off-guard last night. We used up a lot of ammo and supplies, and some of us're still convalescing. Including you," she added sternly, indicating the fresh bandage on Claire's elbow. "Look, as soon as Leon comes back with the computer files, we'll have a better idea of how we're going to proceed from here." _

_"He went out _again_?" Claire said, louder and more peevishly than she'd intended. "And Chris let him go? I thought this was a lockdown." _

___"Well, he needs to keep his U.S. STRATCOM teammates updated, you know." _

___"Oh, that's right," murmured Claire in a monotone. "That anti-Umbrella taskforce the U.S. Strategic Command slapped together. Are they just sitting on their asses waiting for us to do everything, or are they going to actually help us take down Umbrella Inc. by—oh, I don't know—maybe sending us some much-needed supplies?" _

___"As a matter of fact, they are." Jill planted her palms behind her and leaned back. "Leon's playing negotiator right now." _

___Claire examined the fingernails of her right hand with exaggerated interest. "I'm tired of him popping in and out all hours of the night like a freaking ghost," she grumbled. "All he does with us is go on missions and give us intel, but whenever we get some downtime he goes running off to the spooks. It's like he's only half here. I wish he'd just pick a team and stay with it." _

___To Claire's horror, Jill actually looked sympathetic. "You want him to stay here with us, don't you?" _

___"No! I mean, yes. I mean…" Claire expelled a long breath, racking her brain for an explanation that wouldn't give Jill the wrong idea. Whatever the wrong idea was. "Look, when we went through Raccoon City, we were mostly separated. But we saw the same things, survived the same things. He saved my life. We saved each other. And Sherry—he felt almost as responsible for Sherry as I did. And…and did you know there was someone he couldn't save? A woman named Ada Wong. I think she died—that's why he won't talk about it." _

___Even as she spoke, she felt the old irritation well up inside her. Even though the hurt was still fresh, she'd been open about what had happened to Steve. Leon, on the other hand, never, ever talked about Ada. _

___How was she supposed to get any answers from him about how to handle her loss when he refused to talk about his own? _

___"Maybe it's just his way," Jill said mildly. "Maybe he cared about her, too, like you cared about Steve." _

He only knew her for about a day! _Claire nearly snapped, before it occurred to her that she had known Steve only a bit longer than that. It was funny how life-and-death situations had a tendency to forge bonds that would have otherwise seemed unfeasible._

___Still, that only compounded her irritation with Leon. He was probably the only one in the team whose loss was equable to hers; both of them should've been helping each other, not pushing each other away. Then again, neither had exactly made it easy: not Leon, with his near-obsessive focus on his anti-Umbrella crusade, and not Claire, with her massive pride and her refusal to be pitied. _

___Their conversation was cut short by a louder-than-necessary rendition of the "shave and a haircut" knock on the bedroom door. Barely a second later, Chris Redfield stuck his head into the room, his demeanor completely grim, and told them that Umbrella had started experimentation to create a new breed of Tyrant._

* * *

Someone catcalled from the field, causing both Leon and Claire to turn their heads. One of the recruits had meandered over from the obstacle course, leering at them.

"Conjugal visit, Kennedy?" he drawled.

Leon gave him a smile that was more like a baring of teeth. "Delgado, don't you have an obstacle course to run?"

"Only because I don't have friends in high places like you." He clapped his hands over his knees and wheezed as he tried to catch his breath, all the while sizing Claire up with palpable approval. "You know," he said helpfully, "I bet you guys'd enjoy it a lot better if you didn't have to talk through a fence. I'm pretty sure there's a gate around here somewhere, so you guys could—I don't know—carry on a proper conversation like normal people."

"Delgado!" one of the supervising agents boomed from the field. "You've only done eighteen rounds. Get your ass back here!"

Delgado heaved a long-suffering sigh and made his way back to the field with the fluidity of an ocean liner. "Tell you what, Kennedy—you let me know when that Hunnigan chick gets tired of you, so maybe the rest of us get a chance for special treatment."

Leon and Claire watched as the senior agent welcomed him back into the field by yelling something into his ear, drill sergeant-style. He scowled at several trainees who had stopped to rubberneck; they reluctantly resumed their exercise, which left the agent free to turn the heat of his glare on Leon and Claire, clearly annoyed by their distracting presence.

Claire tore her gaze away from the field and raised an eyebrow. "But we're not normal people," she said cheekily.

Leon smiled briefly. "As much as I hate to admit it," he said, "Delgado does have a point. About the fence." He pushed away from the chain links. "There's a gate up ahead. I'll just…ah, come around to you."

"I'll walk with you," she offered.

They strolled along, the fence still in between them. Claire jammed her hands into her dress pockets, while Leon snapped his gum a few more times.

"So…who's this Hunnigan chick and why's she supposed to get tired of you?" Claire asked with her signature subtlety.

Leon scrubbed both his hands through his sweat-dampened hair. "Oh, she's just one of the senior agents."

"Oh, _just_ one of the senior agents, huh?" Claire waggled her brows up and down in a way that was probably meant to be suggestive.

He rolled his eyes. "All right, Claire, you got me. She's actually my Sugar Mommy. I sneak out of my barracks at nine every night and climb up into her private office and in return she makes sure I pass my training."

Claire gawked at his deadpan expression for about a second before reaching over to smack warningly at the fence between them. "Seriously, Leon."

He put up his hands in a placating manner. "Seriously, she's just one of the senior agents who check in on us now and then. I've never even really met her face to face. We went through a scenario the first couple of weeks and we had some senior agents evaluating us behind the scenes. Agent Hunnigan was the first to congratulate me on my performance over the intercom. The guys've been ragging me about it ever since."

"They think you're getting special treatment?"

"That's what they think," Leon said, in a breezy manner that indicated that he really didn't care. "Then there's this, of course."

"Yeah, the guys at the gate told me that it was against regulations for you to get visitors," Claire acknowledged with a shrug, "but then I told them that you got special permission from the higher-ups. You're free for the rest of the day."

"Hn." His eyes took on that haunted quality, the one that uniquely marked every survivor of Raccoon City's horror. Claire had seen it in her mirror, sometimes, whenever she remembered. "So when're the others arriving?"

"Soon. In fact, I'm supposed to meet Chris at the airport."

Leon glanced at her, surprised. "You drove here by yourself?"

"Just me and my bike, yeah." She withdrew her hands from her pockets and fidgeted with her pinky ring. "I just thought I'd help make sure you got out of here, or that you wouldn't forget."

"I wouldn't have," he murmured, and Claire felt an odd sting in her cheeks, as if she were blushing.

At this point they had reached the gate. It was unlocked, and Leon stepped out to stand in front of her. Claire backpedaled to give him space. It felt different without a gate in between them.

"Chris was against my driving here from Virginia at first," she said, more for the need for something to say than anything else. "Even though, as I've told him many times, I'm twenty-five years old and quite possibly capable of riding a motorcycle across two state lines to see if you've really got what it takes to be a real G-Man."

Leon leveled a smile at her that was somehow more genuine than the ones he'd mustered up earlier. She had no idea what she'd said to warrant that smile, and wished she did. He began to walk, and Claire fell into step beside him. "So how's Chris? He still single-handedly funding the entire men's hair gel industry?"

She grinned. "You know it. He's a captain now."

"Captain Chris Redfield of the United States Air Force." Leon shook his head, obviously impressed that Chris's reputation had apparently led the Air Force to reconsider overlooking his discharge. "Does he get to fly one of those Raptors?"

"Haven't asked him yet. But I bet he'll be overjoyed to find out that you know your aircraft. As for Jill, well, she retired from the Delta Force—again—and she's now working in the Air Force's JAG unit. And Carlos got himself a restaurant."

"A restaurant? Really?"

"Hey, he's not a bad cook," she reminded him. "Remember when he used to make lunch for us?"

"Now that you mention it, he was the only one of us who didn't cook stuff directly out of a package. Brazilian?"

"Mediterranean. They're doing so well he's thinking about opening a branch in another state."

"Wow. Not bad."

Claire leaned over to nudge playfully at his shoulder. "Carlos says the next time we go to New York we should stop by and eat for free."

Leon shook his head in mock pity. "Poor Carlos. He's gonna regret making that offer."

"I know. There's nothing more appetizing than the thought of free food, is there?" Claire rubbed her hands as if in anticipation of the feast. "We should order the biggest, most expensive dish they have. And then ask for seconds and thirds."

"Sounds like a plan."

"Also," she went on, ticking off on her fingers, "Barry's now the chief of police in Chesapeake, Virginia."

"You're kidding! That's not far from here."

"Yeah, his kids love the place. Speaking of the gang's predilection to go into law enforcement, I hear Ark's getting into the FBI."

"Yup, the VC unit in Maryland. He just got accepted, and he'll start his training next month. I can't wait till we compare notes on whose training was more sadistic."

"Yeah, and you guys'll probably try to outdo each other trying to be the better spook," drawled Claire, knowing full well the slightly competitive nature the two had. Though at least it wasn't as bad as hers and Chris's. "Oh, and Rebecca got promoted to professor of biochemistry at Cambridge."

Leon chuckled. "I bet she spends half her day explaining to people that no, she's not a student who wandered into the professors' wing by accident."

"Touché. She's thinking about growing her hair out so that she can put it up into a bun or something. And maybe getting one of those horn-rimmed glasses."

He tried to picture it, his nose scrunching up as he did. "Schoolmarm Rebecca. The horror."

"Billy threatened to crawl back into prison if she did that. He works at a computer company the next city over, but she's planning to move in with him."

Leon's bubble popped in mid-blow. "They're a couple now?"

"Yeah. I guess they never really forgot the bond they formed in Raccoon. Who would've thought, huh?"

"I think it's great that they found their happy ending." Claire didn't have to look at him to know that he was wearing that haunted look again. Idly she wondered if there would ever be someone capable of getting rid of that look for good. Someone whose name wasn't Ada Wong, anyway.

"You know what's funny, though?" she said, desperate to avert him from his melancholy. "Billy and Rebecca're compete opposites, but they still managed to find each other. Not so with Jill and my brother, who, despite being incredibly similar to each other, still can't figure it out."

"Chris still hasn't said anything?" Leon queried, astounded. Anyone who had a pulse could tell that Chris Redfield had it in bad for Jill Valentine. Even the cooties-averse Lott and Lily had been able to tell. The only one who couldn't tell, of course, was Jill.

"Nope. Can you believe it? It's _hell_ every time one of them decides to go on a social outing without the other. Whenever Chris thinks Jill's gone out with Carlos he'll call me up just to bitch about it, and when Jill thinks he's gone to lunch with some other female pilot she'll call me up and whine about it. They do this to Barry and Rebecca, too. I swear, Leon, I am this close to just screaming at the both of them, Yes, you're nuts about each other, so just get on with it and put us all out of our miseries.' Of course, it's not my place to do that, but we're starting to run bets on when it does happen—if it ever does."

Leon laughed, a welcome, velvety sound. "Can you imagine Chris and Carlos still locking horns over Jill by the time they're all in the retirement home? They'll be fighting over who gets to rub the Ben-Gay on her."

Claire began cracking up at the visual. "And who gets to give her the Preparation-H."

"They'll probably end up trying to beat each other up with their walking sticks," Leon mused, now thoroughly into the game.

"Or trying to steal a kiss from Jill without dropping their dentures…"

They were practically bent over double now with laughter. The agency employees within earshot either threw them reprimanding glares or eyed them like they were insane.

"You'd think after all the years together and all they've been through, they'd have a clue," Claire said, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye.

"Yeah. I mean, how dense can two people be about how they feel about each other?" Leon wondered.

"I know."

"Really."

"Seriously."

"Yeah."

They didn't say anything else for a couple of minutes. Leon stretched his arms over his head while Claire reflected on how people who could take on the walking undead, viral monsters, and superhumanly strong megalomaniacs without batting an eye could turn into fidgeting wusses when it came to the loves of their life.

"You didn't tell me about Sherry yet," said Leon, breaking the lull.

"Oh, that's right. Sherry's gonna be graduating soon. There're half a dozen Ivy League colleges fighting over her." Irrationally, Claire felt herself swell with pride, as though she had something to do with her former charge's accomplishments. "She's incredibly smart, Leon."

Leon smiled and looked away. "Just like her parents."

Claire nodded. In a way, she and Leon had felt vaguely responsible for the demise of Sherry's parents, even though one had gone off the deep end and the other had been mutated into an abomination who liked to put parasites in people. "She says she's gonna find a cure for cancer and AIDS someday."

"To make up for what her parents did?" he said softly.

The observation was so uncanny that for a second Claire was startled. Then she remembered that Leon had been Sherry's guardian, too, and that they kept in touch. "Yeah. I've told her over and over again…she shouldn't feel responsible for what they did."

"I've told her that, too. But she does. I think she always will. But I also think she came to peace with that fact a long time ago." He paused. "Just like we've all had to."

Claire let her eyes trace over his profile—which was, for once, more thoughtful than haunted. Her brain was suddenly inundated with a series of flashbacks from the last five years. She remembered him meticulously breaking a tiny sleeping pill into two so that she could have the other half—they had both been suffering from insomnia and night terrors then. He had drawn a gun on her twice in both their lifetimes; once because he had thought she was a zombie, and another time because she'd thought nothing of jolting him from sleep in the middle of the night, forgetting that he slept with a Desert Eagle under his pillow. They had spent their second Christmas deep under the catacombs of Paris, drunk on Barry's hot buttered rum while they sang off-key songs about lickers and zombies using tunes from various Christmas carols. A little over a year ago he had turned around to smile at her, his face and clothes covered in blood and viscera yet strangely radiant, his outline limned by the inferno that raged behind him from the remains of Umbrella's Paris HQ.

It had been the beginning of the end of Umbrella, and the beginning of what was supposed to pass for normality for the S.T.A.R.S.

"It feels like an epilogue," Claire murmured.

Leon cocked his head inquiringly to one side.

"It's as if the last five years was one big movie and this's supposed to be the final tag scene or something," she explained. "All of us being ordinary, going on with our lives."

He must've sensed the undercurrent of disappointment in her words. "Hey, now. We're not ordinary," he chided her. "You said so yourself."

She smiled. "I said we weren't normal people."

"That's right. We're not. You know why? Because we went through Hell, and we survived it, and we can move on in spite of it."

Maybe that's the answer I've been looking for since Raccoon and Antarctica, Claire thought. Maybe there's no real closure. We adapt, we change, and we move on. We lose what's precious to us but gain others. And somehow, along the way, we find that we've been able to forgive ourselves after all.

Maybe it was the beginning of something, after all, rather than an end.

* * *

Everyone came, just as Claire knew they would. Even the ones who hadn't heard of or experienced Raccoon City were there: Lott Klein, now in high school and proudly showing off the new diamond stud he'd gotten in his ear; his sister Lily, who read Tiger Beat and giggled nervously whenever Carlos or Leon spoke to her; Ark Thompson, who flew in from Quantico; and Bruce McGivern, who had even managed to comb his hair into some semblance of order. Eighteen-year-old Sherry Birkin arrived with them, and nearly bowled both Claire and Leon over with the exuberance of her hug. Barry brought his entire family—his girls were now in middle school and shared a lot of Lily's interests—and Rebecca and Billy were there, too, their hands seemingly permanently joined. Jill showed up in her JAG uniform, apologetically explaining that she hadn't had time to change. Not that Chris particularly minded; all throughout her explanation he ogled her as though she were the last can of Budweiser in the fridge. Carlos was the late one, dressed in a suit that was thankfully more conservative than the ones he usually favored.

If the occasion hadn't been such a solemn one, Claire realized, their group reunion might've appeared celebratory. Which it was, in a way: it was the first time in years that the full roster of Umbrella's survivors had seen each other.

Joining them were at least several thousand people, friends and relatives who had flown or driven to a park near Arlington to commemorate the anniversary of the long-gone mountainside town with the unveiling of an official memorial.

The memorial itself was a sculpture of inscrutable origin that reminded Claire, bizarrely and somewhat tackily, of the statue that had been in the middle of the RPD. No one would have identified it as indicative of the Raccoon City incident had it not been for the words chiseled at the base: _In Memoriam, Raccoon City, October 1, 1998. _

There was also a large slab in front inscribed with the names of Raccoon City's dead.

The ceremony had lasted for only an hour or so, peppered with solemn and sobbing speeches from those who had lost loved ones in Raccoon, including two Congressmen who had traveled directly from the Capitol. No one made any acknowledgments of the city's survivors, and Claire and the others were glad for it.

* * *

Sunset came and drenched the sky in shades of gold, yellow ochre, and cobalt. The park was nearly empty now save for the ones who had opted to remain, the ones who had confronted head-on the monstrosity behind Raccoon City's death and lived. They had their own demons to slay, their own separate way of commemorating the city Umbrella had used as their own viral playground.

Leon lingered at the front of the memorial long after the others, his eyes fixed intently on the list of names before him.

"You okay, Leon?"

He didn't have to turn around. "Yeah."

Claire moved to stand a respectful distance beside him, glancing at him out of the corner of her peripheral vision. He'd ditched his gray training clothes for a navy turtleneck, dark pants, and a black trench coat. If he'd worn shades he would've looked like a refugee from a Wachowski brothers screenplay. "You recognize someone?"

He reached out and dragged his fingers over one of the chiseled words. "This one. Kevin Ryman."

She edged closer to him to read the name. "Was he a friend of yours?"

"Yeah. He was older than me by ten years, but he never made me feel like a kid. Used to bring me to all these football games. He was a great cop—he always told me I could count on him to show me the ropes. I was really looking forward to working with him when I got assigned to the RPD." Leon let his hand drop heavily. "Whenever I got tired of the fight against Umbrella, his was one of the names I remembered so that I could keep going."

"I'm sorry." Unlike Jill, Chris, Barry, and Rebecca, who had collaborated with the government and the deceased's families to compile the list of names, she and Leon, having driven to Raccoon for the first time that night, didn't really know any of those who had died. Or so Claire had thought.

"Well," Leon said at last, "at the very least, for the first time in years, we can say that they can rest in peace now."

They fell silent, contemplating the ones lost. A brisk wind had started up, rippling their clothes and gently tugging the yellowing leaves from the tree branches overhead.

They did not mention Ada or Steve, but they did not need to. Instead they merely stood there side by side, not quite touching, but drawing strength just the same.

* * *

Leon's downtime was limited to only a few hours, so he had to beg off joining the others for dinner. He was currently in his final phase of training, and would not be able to see most of them until possibly the next year.

Claire wandered off the back of the group as he said his goodbyes to the others. She was almost halfway across the park when he finally got to her.

"Hey," he breathed. "Trying to avoid me?"

She smiled and evaded his question. "Going back, huh?"

"I gotta." Spending time with his former anti-Umbrella teammates had apparently done him good; he seemed genuinely lighter and much less solemn than he'd been earlier that day back at the training facility. "So, I'll see you again maybe when you graduate?"

"You're not sure if you'll come?" Claire asked, trying not to sound too disappointed.

"I'll try my best," he said earnestly, "but I can't make any promises. It depends on what the agency decides for me."

"You gonna wear your G-Man threads so I can spot you?"

He grinned. "How about a really loud neon tie-dye shirt?"

She swatted playfully at his shoulder, and Leon opened his mouth as if to say something else, but then seemed to think better of it. Instead he gave her a light punch in the arm; no matter how many dresses she wore or how often she let her hair down, it seemed he would always treat her as one of the boys. "Well, then…see you around, Redfield."

"Likewise, Kennedy."

He didn't turn around right away; instead he walked backward for a couple of seconds, as though he wanted to make sure that she wasn't following him or something. Finally he swiveled around.

Claire watched his departing back for a second, and, before she could stop herself, called out. "Leon!"

He turned, his expression almost expectant. "Yeah, Claire?"

To her chagrin she realized that she'd completely forgotten what it was she was going to say. "Ah…I forgot. I mean, good luck. With the training."

He processed this far longer than he should have, looking at her as though she were covered in tiny handwriting that he was trying to read. Finally he smiled. "Thanks."

Claire let out her breath as he strode away. It was funny; for an instant it had been so clear to her what she needed to tell him. It was always there at the tip of her tongue, waiting to tumble out in his presence. But she could never figure out what it was.

She spun on her heel and glanced suspiciously at the audience behind her. "_What_?" she demanded.

Sherry merely grinned from ear-to-ear. Rebecca giggled into Billy's shoulder and Chris exchanged a clandestine look with Jill, who said, "Why don't you just tell him?"

"Tell him what?" Claire asked, genuinely confused. Maybe they knew?

They all shook their heads in such unison that Claire was surprised they didn't create a secondary wind.

She rolled her eyes at them and shifted her attention back to where Leon had gone. In the distance she could see the headlights of his Jeep flick on as he pulled out of the parking lot.

* * *

A couple of months later Ark phoned her up and told her that the reason Leon wasn't going to be receiving any calls for a while was because he had just been sent on his first mission.

"But he's still in DC?" Claire wanted to know. "He's Secret Service, right?"

"Not exactly," admitted Ark. "Apparently the position he got's very hush-hush, though I do know he works directly under POTUS and he does protection detail. He's been sent to Europe, I think."

"POTUS?"

"Oh, right. It's spook-speak for President of the United States."

Claire switched on her TV with the remote and turned it to CNN. "You know when he's coming back?"

"No. But he just got the job. Whatever he got sent on, it shouldn't take long, I don't think."

She grimaced as images of overseas unrest flashed across her screen. "He better be okay."

"Oh, he'll be fine," Ark assured her confidently. "Besides, his first day as a rookie agent couldn't possibly any worse than his first day as a rookie cop, right?"

She smiled. "Right. Thanks, Ark."

"No problem. Later, Claire."

Claire clicked off the phone and stared at the TV. It was replaying footage of the newly elected President Graham waving to his campaign supporters, his elegant wife flanking his left, and his daughter, a pretty blond, on his right.

_Leon's new boss, _she thought. _Come to think of it, no wonder the President picked him—he's got this really aggravating habit of treating himself like a disposable human shield. If anything's going to get him killed, it'll be because of that damned self-destructive instinct of his to protect and serve. Well, he better stay in one piece, 'cause this story's not over yet. _

Claire Redfield was not the type to keep quiet when she had something to say, so actually not knowing what it was she wanted to say was, naturally, quite frustrating. She was sure she'd almost gotten it a couple of times, as recently as when she'd first seen him back at the training facility, but for some reason she could not articulate it. Maybe it was too complicated, or too absurd, or too hard for words. But whatever it was, she was certain that she would get around to it eventually.

Her college graduation in December wasn't all that far away, but maybe by then she'd have figured out just what it was she wanted to tell him.

* * *

F I N I S

* * *

Random Musings (nope, still can't shut up): Sorry for the abrupt ending, but _I finally got RE4_! Er…did I already say that? Well, believe the hype. Despite its untraditional non-zombie storyline, it really is the legitimate follow-up to_ Code: Veronica_, and it is "holy sh!t!" scary—I've lost count of the number of times I've found my clammy fingers welded to the controller. Everything about it is spectacular: the different types of scenarios, the boss fights, the cut-scenes, the graphics, the non-template story, and the animations (just watching Leon quickly reloading his weapons or doing his evasive backflips is breathtaking). I'm already addicted to the shooting range mini-game (I want alla them bottlecaps, darn it!). It's almost inevitable that I'll be writing an RE4 fic one day. Not to give away any spoilers, but the ordeal Leon undergoes here is far, far beyond anything I've seen in the series so far.

So what does Greek mythology have to do with Resident Evil? A bit, actually. Umbrella's monster-makers must've had a soft spot for the Greek myths, judging by the names they give to their ravenous creations: Cerberus for the dogs, Neptune for the sharks, Dead Aim's Pluto, and so on. What was cool was that when I was choosing names for original tyrants for my "Anteros" fic, I plucked them from Greek mythology, suspecting that RE3's Nemesis was named after the Greek personification of vengeance. Later on, I found out that Capcom named Outbreak's final boss the Thanatos tyrant (Thanatos is the Greek myths' personification of death), which I thought was very cool.

U.S. STRATCOM was—at least in Dead Aim—heading the U.S. government's anti-Umbrella movement, and was Bruce McGivern's employer. In Wesker's Report, it's not specified which "underground anti-Umbrella organization" Leon joined up with, but judging from his actions in Code: Veronica, Gaiden, and Survivor, where he seemed to be working behind the scenes and dishing out intel in addition to going on missions, it's entirely possible that his group was government-sponsored. It would also make sense considering how quickly he rose to elite agent by RE4 (it him took all of two years; if you take Gaiden into consideration, he was still fighting Umbrella by 2002). Besides, even though it's probably not relevant, take a look at Bruce's and Leon's black rubber-like T-shirts; they look like they shop from the same G-Man store.

Again, thanks for reviewing. Back to the Ganado-slaying!


End file.
